


My Boy

by sneakybosmer



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Fluff, Gen, Gender Identity, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Trans Character, aziraphale uses a computer, but they're in love ok, can be read as platonic, shout out to neil for making it canon, what even is a gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakybosmer/pseuds/sneakybosmer
Summary: The 21st century has some new rules for concepts that have been around since the dawn of time. Aziraphale does research about them. On the computer no less!Otherwise known as Who Even Needs a Gender Anyways





	My Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to Neil for making canon (!!!) gender queer characters. It fills my heart with Feelings that I have to Write About.
> 
> Important note: The lads coffee orders. Not important to the story but very important to think about.
> 
> Aziraphale's coffee order: 24oz Latte with whole milk 3 pumps salted caramel, 3 pumps chocolate, 1 pump cinnamon. Extra whipped cream. Chocolate sprinkles. Only a half of the shot of espresso, if you don’t mind!  
> Crowley's coffee: 32oz red eye. Black drip with 8 shots. No cream. No sugar.  
> (Do British people order coffee differently? That's how I would order here in 'murica)

Aziraphale loved buttons. Not the decorative silver buttons on a fine waistcoat or the delicate pearl buttons on the cuffs of long out of fashion shirt sleeves. No, he loved the big, round, sometimes endearing, sometimes obnoxious buttons that humans pinned to their clothing. How human to use a bright little decoration to shout your ideas to the world! Aziraphale remembers seeing them the most in the 70’s and into the 80’s, proclaiming everything from politics to peace in bright colors and fun slogans. He didn’t see them much nowadays, so while he waited for a truly Heavenly latte from his favorite place down the road (who simply knew him as Mr. A, and were always delighted to see him), he couldn’t help but ask the smiling young person behind that counter what the pastel colored button pinned next to their name tag meant. They explained cheerfully, though Aziraphale wasn’t sure he liked the slight shadow behind their eyes, a wary light that had him pushing just a touch of divine love into that person’s heart as he walked out the door.

He walked back to his shop with a piping hot latte in hand and a head full of new words bouncing back and forth. Back at the shop, he stood for a moment in front of the pile of nice-but-not-that-nice first editions he intended to sort today. Books were wonderful. Books were spectacular. Book held the entire knowledge of humanity safely tucked inside their fragile pages, just waiting for someone to dip in and pull forth the thoughts straight from an author’s brain, better then could ever be spoken. But books took time. Time to write and edit and re-edit and print, if you could even find a publishing house in the first place! And then there was the matter of even finding the book you needed! Aziraphale was definitely no glutton, at least not for punishment. He knew that when you needed up-to-date information, especially on social issues, the best place to find it was the World Wide Web. Aziraphale turned on his heel and bustled into his office in back of the shop, settling primly at his desk. He thumbed the power button on his somewhat brick shaped laptop, waiting patiently as it arose painfully from slumber. Aziraphale’s bookshop did not have Wi-Fi. He did not know that, therefore it did not matter. After a few minutes of wheezing and sputtering, the poor dinosaur of a laptop awoke with slightly pained start-up tune.

“Good morning!” Aziraphale said brightly. Crowley had explained very patiently that he did _not_ need to talk to the computer. Aziraphale didn’t care. He liked to think it helped the outdated machine get on.

“To the internet please, my good man.” He said enthusiastically, carefully scooting the cursor along to land on the shortcut to the browser that Crowley had renamed “Aziraphale use this one”. While the browser loaded he flicked open the antique rolodex that resided next to the laptop, humming thoughtfully as he flicked through. He settled on the Wikipedia web page (he had made a note on the card, “An encyclopedia”). One letter at a time, he slowly began pecking out, H… T… T… P… S… just as it was written on the card.

In another part of London, Crowley’s eyes flicked open suddenly, his mild afternoon doze in the sun interrupted by a sudden and completely inexplicable exasperation. He glanced around, flicking his tongue a few times before determining the scent of Aziraphale was only in his imagination. Settling his head back on his own scaly coils, he pushed aside the feeling and dozed back off.

When Crowley sauntered through the locked doors of the bookshop some time later he did so with a bag of chocolate croissants tucked under his arm. A hot chocolate was in his right hand and a red eye blacker then demons soul was in his left. He didn’t call out, Aziraphale knew he was there and he knew where Aziraphale was.

“Good morning, Aziraphale” he hummed, setting the fresh cocoa next to the empty paper cup by to the laptop. Beneath his sunglasses he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the laboring machine, now knowing what had interrupted his nap.

“Oh!” Aziraphale blinked blearily from behind his reading glasses, looking up from the pages he was holding.

“Thank you my dear b-“ He hesitated, biting off the end of his words. Crowley raised a brow.

“What’s on your mind, Angel?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale took a defensive sip of cocoa. His face was pointed at Crowley but his eyes were focused firmly on his right ear. Crowley raised the other eyebrow.

“Well…You see… I’ve just been reading…” He began.

“That’s a first.” Crowley deadpanned, hooking the spare rolling chair in the corner with his foot and collapsing in it so they were eye-to-sunglasses.

“Well, I’ve just- That is, I’m just not sure-” Aziraphale stammered. Crowley huffed and scooted closer to Aziraphale to pluck the neat pile of fresh pages from his desk. The stark white printer paper was a sharp contrast to all the other yellowed parchments and vellums strewn across the wide oak desk. He had found some article (Satan only knows where from) and printed it out, pop up advertisements and all, so he could go through and highlight with markers different words and phrases. Crowley’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to ignore it. They could go over using the computer for the 17th time another day.

“What rabbit hole have you fallen down now?” Crowley said, flicking through the stack to the next page, which was from Wikipedia. Last time Aziraphale had gone on a Wikipedia binge he had used a ream of printer paper to go in depth into the history of cruise ships. Crowley insisted they were one of His. Aziraphale thought of course they could only be Hers.

“Well. I suppose I was just wondering…” Aziraphale twiddled his thumbs, feigning a casual sip of cocoa. Crowley’s eyebrows were in Alpha Centauri.

“Do you mind being called boy?” Aziraphale exclaimed all in a rush, like the words were too dangerous to keep on his tongue for long. Crowley blinked a few times. Of all the questions he wasn’t sure he had expected that. He took a thoughtful sip of coffee, considering his answer.

“I don’t _mind_ being called boy.” He said slowly,

“I just… I don’t think I ever asked- And sometimes, you, you know. Shake up your look, as it were.” Aziraphale was floundering. He was afloat in a sea of old ideas that he had never heard voiced, and now he wasn’t sure what was up and what was down.

“You mean I dress like a girl?” Crowley asked, amused by Aziraphale’s concern over something so small such as _gender_.

“Well, yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed,

“I would have said something if it bothered me.” Crowley did not say it kindly. He was a demon, he was not kind. Perhaps he did say it gently, but he would never confess to it, even if he was staring down the barrel of a super soaker of holy water.

“I suppose. But I think I’m supposed to _ask_!” Aziraphale said plaintively. Crowley pushed the bag of chocolate croissants across the desk towards the Angel, just to give him something to do with his nervously fluttering hands.

“Angel, really, I’d have said something if it wasn’t alright.” Crowley said. Aziraphale just frowned, still not meeting his gaze.

“You never called me boy when I was Warlock’s nanny.” Crowley pointed out, trying to smooth the spot of worry on his Angel’s brow.

“Well, I- I think I just assumed then. But you’re not supposed to assume! That’s what I’ve been reading!” The chocolate croissants weren’t calming the distraught Angel. Crowley was going to have to take drastic measures. He slide his sunglasses up to rest like a crown on the top of his head.

“I’m- _We’re_ not human. We can’t be male or female, or anything else like they can.” Crowley said, harsh yellow gaze into clear blue.

“I’m not a ‘boy’, whatever that is. But I don’t mind when you call me that. It means something else when you say it.” That last part slipped out before Crowley could bite it back.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly, the stormy patch between his brows slowly smoothing. “Does it really?”

“Of course.” Crowley muttered quietly, eyes darting around the room. Curse the dramatic flair that had made him take off his glasses to make meaningful eye contact. Now he felt bare before his Angel, who was brightening before his very eyes like the sun rising.

“Forgive me for not asking, my dear boy?” Aziraphale words tilted up hopefully like a bird about to take flight.

“There’s nothing to forgive Aziraphale,” Crowley said simply. Aziraphale smiled at him like he had hung the moon. Which he had. But that wasn’t the point. They sat together for a long moment, the quiet comfort of 6000 years of friendship wrapping around them like a favorite quilt. Crowley spoke first,

“You’ve spent too long with the books again, Angel, it’s putting strange thoughts in your head.” He stood and stretched theatrically, slipping his glasses back down. “Tempt you for a turn around the park?”

“Oh, if we must.” Aziraphale said fondly, standing up with a small symphony of joint pops. “Oof!”

“Oof...” Crowley echoed, shaking his head as he slunk hips first out of the office. Aziraphale paused for a moment behind him, straightening the pile of fresh white pages on his desk.

“ _My_ boy,” He murmured, the words melting sweetly in his mouth like silky smooth dark chocolate.

“Angel!” Crowley hollered from the front, impatient but trying to be cool about it.

“Coming, dear!” Aziraphale followed him out of the shop into the bright bustle of humanity, and all the beauty the world could hold on a sunny morning in London.

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley has the same attitude towards gender that I do, which is mostly shrug emoji. 
> 
> Please please please leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed! This is my first completed work since 2014 :)


End file.
